Ever In Your Favour
by tala-hiding
Summary: John Smith just wants to go home to his little blue box. Rose Tyler just wants to live long enough to see the stars. Story takes place in the general world of The Hunger Games.


**Title**: Ever in Your Favour

**Pairing**: Rose/Ten (John Smith)

**Rating**: PG-13

**Word Count**: 2,779

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Doctor Who or any related spin-offs, characters, etc. They belong to the BBC and their respective creators. Still looking for a spare Chris Eccleston. Does anyone have one?

**Author's Note**: Written for Challenge 79 from the then_theres_us LJ community. It's an AU taking place within the world of The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, although it's not necessary to read the books before reading this story. (Does that make it a crossover as well? I'm not sure.) If you want to know more about the world itself and the basic concept of the Hunger Games, you can visit the Wikipedia site, which is short and comprehensive: en. wikipedia. org /wiki /The_Hunger_Games_universe. (remove all the spaces)

This piece is un-beta'ed, so all mistakes are mine.

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><p>The forest ended abruptly, the twisting roots of the elder trees tenuously holding on to the ground as the still water encroached the soil. Branches reached downwards, dipping a cautious twig at its reflection. Rose Tyler leaned against one of the tree trunks, her bright yellow hair plastered across her sweaty forehead and sticking to the back of her neck. <em>That was close<em>, she thought to herself, her trembling fingers still gripping the haft of her spear.

The woods were quiet around her except for the random trill of birdsong. She sank to the ground, dead leaves rustling beneath her trainers, trying to organise her mind around the events of the last twelve hours. She took a mental inventory of her backpack: at least two days' rations, a flashlight, some gauze, an empty canister for water, matches, and what seemed to be a rather sleek sleeping roll. And the spear she got off the tribute from District 3 - no mean feat, that one, but at least she had a weapon now. And you always needed a weapon.

She took a deep breath and listened to the forest, trying to assess whether or not someone was tracking her. Oh sure, the cameras were always there, cleverly hidden, out of sight, broadcasting her every movement to the viewers in the Capitol and beyond. Still. She huffed. The first thing she needed to do was to get water.

Cautiously, she ventured towards the pool just a few meters away from her tree. She'd need to fill up her canister, and possibly wash up. She hoped that the other tributes wouldn't have found this yet - the forest was filled with water holes, but not all of them were potable. She took a cautious sniff at the clear liquid. No harm in trying to discern if it was laced with anything from a sedative to a fast-acting poison.

Rose carefully fished out out her canister and scooped up some water. Then she pulled out a small vial of iodine to treat the liquid, shook the canister to make sure the iodine spread, and then scurried back to the relative safety of the nearest tree line, pulling the hoodie of her black zip-up jacket over her head to hide her hair.

"Psst, blondie."

A shiver ran through her spine. Rose gripped her weapon, her fingers clammy. _Not another one_, she thought sadly.

"Up here."

Dappled sunlight fell across the leaves covering the forest floor. She tilted her head upwards, shielding her eyes. She caught movement in one of the trees, a rustle of branches. Then feet, clad in maroon trainers, and a boy, perhaps her age, perhaps a bit older, dropped from the branches and landed at her feet. She stumbled back in surprise, instinctively leveling her weapon directly at his chest. Her fingers thumbed the button on the haft.

He raised his eyebrow at her. "Electric?"

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

"Why?"

The boy leaned against the tree trunk and looked at her carefully. His dark brown hair flopped over his eyes, and he repeatedly pushed it away. Unlike the other tributes, he seemed to be unaware that they were all fighting for their lives; unlike the other tributes, he also seemed to have ditched the black camouflage jackets they were all given as part of their uniforms and had donned a long brown overcoat that almost swept the ground. "I can help you, you know."

"You'd as sooner stick a knife in my back."

"No knives, me. No weapons either. Well, except this." He pulled out a slim silver tube from an inner pocket in his jacket and switched it on. The tip glowed bright blue, and there was a echo of a mechanical whirr in the air.

"Put that away!" Rose whispered. "Now everyone will know where we are!"

"Naw," he scoffed. "Now then, d'you still want to to talk here or shall we go somewhere else less conspicuous, blondie?"

She rolled her eyes. "District 3, yeah? Nobody else would know how to work a sonic device."

He nodded and swung up the tree lightly, all skittering limbs and joints. "Name's John Smith. You?"

"District 11. Rose."

"'_Any other name would smell as sweet_,' as they say." He reached down and offered his hand. "Come on up, Rose."

She looked at his proffered hand suspiciously. "And how do I know you're not leading me to a trap?"

He laughed quietly, his dark eyes twinkling in the shadows. "You don't."

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><p>John sat on the crook of a branch, his back against the tree trunk, his legs bent, knees to his chin, coat wrapped around him like armour. Rose sat on the next branch, her blonde hair now in a neat braid down her back and covered once more by her hoodie. Her backpack was nestled between her legs, her spear cradled in her hands. Above them, the sky burst in colour, the anthem playing loudly in the background.<p>

"He's dead," she whispered.

"Who?"

"Mickey."

"Who's he?"

"The other one." She nibbled on her bottom lip nervously. "I'm glad it wasn't me."

"You didn't kill him."

"No. I promised not to."

"Funny sort of promise to make."

The final tally of deaths for the day finally ended and the screen receded back into the darkest of blues. Around them, the forest came to life again - the rustle of squirrels and rabbits, the repetitive lizard calls, dead leaves brushed by a passing wind - and the two sank back against the protection of the tree.

Rose heard John rummage around his pockets and was surprised when he reached over and pressed an energy bar into her palm. "Here, have some dinner."

"Where'd you get this?" She unwrapped the bar carefully and took a nibble. Her stomach growled, demanding for more immediately.

She saw his silhouette shrug, and heard him unwrap a second bar. "Spoils of war."

"D'you think you're going to win?"

He paused, and she saw him look up at the stars. "I just want to get back home, you know."

She snorted. "Don't we all?"

His voice was low and melodic as he spoke. "I miss my house. Well, not house, not really, more like something with four walls and a low roof. I painted her blue, you know? The bluest of blue. And I planted roses around her. White roses, for my mother. The seeds were given to me by the mayor in exchange for my services."

"Must've been some good service."

John laughed. "Yeah, yeah it was."

Rose knew that they had to speak carefully - every word could be recorded by the cameras spread in the forest, picking up even the slightest movement, the whispered word. Instead of pursuing John's story, she looked up at the sky instead. The horizon was dotted with familiar stars. She tried tracing invisible lines between each twinkling dot, mapping out The Big Dipper, Orion's Belt, searching for the North Star. "I always wanted to see the stars," she began. "You know, just climb inside a rocket and shoot straight into space. I read about them, from before. You had rocket ships and astronauts and people who walked on the Moon."

"I remember."

"I wonder how that feels - stepping on the ground of a world that nobody's ever set foot on before. Your footprint is the first footprint on the soil. Nobody's ever seen the world the way you can see it, you know what I mean? It's like watching the first sunrise on the first day on some alien world some million miles away."

"With flying lizards in the distance?"

"Definitely with flying lizards in the distance."

They both sank into companionable silence afterwards. Rose felt a strange sort of kinship to this odd boy, this John Smith with the manic smile and bright dark eyes, who could play with sonic devices and fed her her first meal the whole day. She glanced at her hands. In the darkness, she could pretend that the grit underneath her nails were really just loam, stuck there after a long, hard day in the fields, instead of the dried remnants of blood. That the stains on her palms, on the haft of her spear, were only dirt and grime instead of the remnants of another tribute's blood. She'd never killed anyone until today - never thought she'd had to, really, until her name was pulled out during the Reaping and she had no other choice but to play or die.

She started to move, only to see John gesture towards her - a hand stretched out, palms spread out. She could see the outline of his body, crouched on the branch. In the darkening gloam, the rising mists, she could still see his finger pressed against his lips. Silence.

And then she noticed it: the forest had gone quiet, as though someone had clamped earplugs into her ears. The myriad sounds made by the nocturnal insects and animals had stopped. The breeze had died. Even the nearby stream went still. Mist rose in curling strands, licking the edges of the branches they were perched on.

Rose could feel her heart hammering in her chest. Carefully, she shifted her stance so that her feet were balanced on the branch, crouching to tuck herself into the shadows. She swung her pack over her shoulders and secured the straps, then held her spear in a tight two-handed grip.

Then they heard it: the howl of a wolf.

"Wolverines," whispered John, his voice barely a whisper of a breeze. Rose closed her eyes and willed her body to stop trembling in fear. Developed from the wild wolves of the North, they were stronger and faster than regular wolves, and could be trained to hunt human flesh. It was said that wolverines could kill you in ten seconds if it wanted to - anything longer than that meant that they were trained for torture. If these muttations were being set loose into the forest, that meant the Gamekeepers wanted to up the ante. In her mind, Rose carefully counted the remaining Tributes: the red-headed girl from District 2, Amy Pond, and her fellow tribute, Roman. He was good with a sword. The boy from District 6. John. Herself. Both tributes from District 12. Seven tributes left, and they were already letting the mutts out.

"Must've been a boring few days," she muttered to herself.

"That's what they get for putting us in the forest," John replied.

The single mutt was joined by another, and another, and another, until all Rose could hear were the insistent baying of the wolverines.

"They can't climb trees, right?"

"Only way to find out." And then John disappeared from sight, his feet already scaling the next branch above them.

Rose gritted her teeth and slotted her spear into a loop on her pack, securing the weapon tightly against her body. Her body was still tired and aching, and she desperately wanted a drink of water, a nap. But the howls were getting closer and closer, and she was still low enough to know that a good leap from one of the wolverines would snap her leg clean below the knee. She started climbing.

"Higher," John's disembodied voice came from somewhere above her head.

She concentrated on gripping the tree trunk tightly and searching for secure footholds in each and every branch and bole. The bark scraped her palms and forearms, and the smaller twigs snapped and scratched against any exposed bit of flesh. "John," she whispered, looking up. He was a shadow in the criss-crossed branches of the tree, like starlight and darkness.

"Yeah?"

"The howling's stopped."

John paused, perfectly balanced on his branch. Beneath them, Rose heard the crack of twigs beneath paws. She looked down, the height almost dizzying, her eyes attempting to separate the wolves from the shadows.

They had encircled the tree - seven great wolverines, their shaggy hides silver in the moonlight. Copper-colored eyes shone like lamplight in the dark. Rose pressed her back against the tree trunk, trying to sink into the wood and disappear, like the nymphs in the oldest of stories.

"Get up, Rose," hissed John urgently. "Get up!"

But Rose stood, transfixed, her grip on the spear slack and loose. The wolves, surprisingly graceful, started climbing upwards, their bodies fluid like liquid mercury. Fur and claw and too-bright eyes scampered towards them, silent save for the occasional snap of branches, broken beneath their weight.

"Rose!"

The first wolf, the pack leader, was only three branches below her. Rose trembled, fear coursing through her body like a river rushing through. She could feel sweat decorating her brow, dampening her palms. They were beautiful, she thought absently. Beautiful and deadly.

John extended his arm, the sonic device in his grip. A bright blue light emanated from the tip. He pointed it at the oncoming wolves.

A forepaw, then another, gripped Rose's branch. Before she could move, she found herself face to face with eyes the color of burnished metal, the irises jet-black. She could smell the wolf's breath, see the steam rising from its jaws as it looked right back at her. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her skin prickled at the warmth emanating from the large animal in front of her. _If I am to die_, she thought_, better to die by this beautiful animal than by any of the other tributes._

Another thought invaded her mind. _Thank you_. She imagined she could hear the howl of the wolf echoing through her mind.

_Who are you?_ she tried to ask, sending tendrils of words towards the animal in front of her.

_Tasha. I can smell your fear, and your admiration. No-one has admired us before._

_Will you kill me?_

The wolf lifted her nose in the air. _No. You smell golden and good._

_Will you kill him?_

The wolf paused, her eyes darkening slightly. _Our master will not be pleased if we let him go. Tell me, why should we spare his life?_

_He saved mine._

_Is he of your pack?_

_He is the last of his pack._

_Ah._ The wolf nodded thoughtfully. It carefully backed away, sitting on its hind legs, perfectly balanced on the narrow branch. _He is your mate._

Rose could feel a blush creeping up her and across her cheeks. She was glad the wolf was unable to understand that reaction. The word was... surprising, but not wholly unwelcome. She could admit, even to herself, that John was not unattractive, and his eyes were like still pools that she could sink into and lose herself in. But not here. Not right now. Not when she wanted to survive.

The wolf spoke in her mind once more, her voice tinged with regret. _Then we will not kill him. You need him to propagate your kind_.

"Rose?" John's hushed whisper floated downwards. "What's going on?"

Rose tilted her head upwards and shushed him with a finger to her lips. Then she turned back to the wolf. _Thank you, Tasha. I am grateful for your generosity._

_Don't waste your life,_ the wolf answered. _I give you one chance only. The next time I see you, your blood will fill my mouth. _

Before Rose could respond, the wolves had slipped away, slipping from the trees like shadows. She heard another howl, far-off in the distance, and then a piercing scream. They had found another tribute.

John dropped down beside her, his eyes glimmering curiously. "What just happened, Rose? I thought they were going to kill you. And then have me for dessert."

"I... she... she said you were my mate," she stammered.

"So you're the big bad wolf now, eh?" he asked teasingly, his voice dropping to a growl.

Rose gave him a quirk of a smile, poking her tongue between her teeth.

John tilted his head and leaned forward. They were almost nose to nose, his hair seemingly rising up in the air as though it had a life of its own. She wondered if it felt soft beneath her fingers, feather-light against her skin. Rose could feel her breath mingling with his in the cool night air.

And then he kissed her, his lips fitting against hers like the perfect puzzle piece finding its match. He was cool and smooth against her mouth, his tongue flicking against the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. She allowed him to slip through, her tongue touching his carefully as he backed her against the tree trunk, his body pressing against hers insistently.

So this is what it means, she thought to herself as his fingers burrowed beneath the hem of her jacket, skin seeking skin. This is what it means to have a mate.

As he carefully unraveled her body, baring each secret patch of skin, she sighed regretfully. She'd have to kill him tomorrow.

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><p>the end


End file.
